


show me a hero (and i'll write you a tragedy)

by nickofhearts



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Shapeshifting, Tragedy, dreamingcicadas, this is /all/ on you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickofhearts/pseuds/nickofhearts
Summary: None see the Chosen King for his true self.





	show me a hero (and i'll write you a tragedy)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamingcicadas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingcicadas/gifts).



The first question Noctis asks anyone is—"Who do I look like to you?“

He becomes inured to the stuttering responses, the people that lie, say of course he looks like the _prince,_ except they can’t tell him what the prince fucking looks like. Noctis doesn’t give those people the time of day. He prefers the honest responses: the lost lovers, the children gone to war, the estranged parents that haven’t been spoken to in a decade.

It might hurt that no one can look at him and see _Noctis,_ but at least they’re seeing someone they’ve been _yearning_ for, precious and beloved.

At least, that’s what Noctis tells himself every time his own father’s gaze falls on him and he flinches, sadness a mask that descends like a curtain over his visage, and Regis doesn’t soon make the same mistake of looking again.

-

His _Shield,_ Gladiolus, had known of his prince's strange affliction—some peculiar property of being the _Chosen King,_ to reflect the desires of his people—and Gladiolus' stoic expression is almost perfect, only a split-second of shocked surprise before the boy barely older than Noctis bows, stiff-backed and proper.

"Who is it?" Noctis asks, curious. It's good information to have besides.

"My—mother," Gladiolus answers him. "She passed away not long after the birth of my younger sister." He fidgets uncomfortably, revealing youthful insecurity. Noctis knows that will change with time. Clarus has never looked on him with anything but the respect due the crown prince. 

"Thank you, Gladiolus." Noctis appreciates the honesty. He puts a hand on his Shield's shoulder. 

"Prince Noctis," Gladiolus responds, more sure than before.

They smile at each other, united by the shared confidence.

-

Ignis doesn't falter for even a moment. " _Prince Noctis,_ " he says, bowing the exact amount prescribed to someone of his station adressing royalty.

Noctis wants to ask, but he doesn't also want to pry. Ignis has demonstrated impeccable discretion. He decides to allow his advisor this secret. Ignis has earned it, in a certain way.

-

Prompto is unexpected. Noctis hadn't agreed with his father's decision to send him to a public school, firstly because he couldn't see what they could teach him more than Ignis with his tirelessly outlined lesson plans, but it was also just _tedious,_ getting constantly mistaken for other students, for adults unfamiliar to him, on a near-constant basis. It's perhaps uncharitable for Noctis to think it, but he wonders if Regis sends him away just so _he_ doesn't have to look upon him.

"P-princess Lunafreya!" Prompto had stuttered out apropos of nothing, face red as a tomato, and it'd been so completely unexpected that Noctis had burst out laughing.

"Close, but not quite," Noctis said, offering his classmate a hand up. "Try something a bit closer to home."

" _Oh._ " Prompto went an even brighter red, if that was possible. "Prince Noctis, I'm sorry!!" He bent almost completely in half, as if they were in the medieval ages and Noctis was liable to demand his head be chopped off for the offense.

"Whatever," Noctis shrugged. "Everyone does it." He fixed Prompto with a squinty-eyed glare. "Have you been entertaining impure thoughts about my Oracle, Mr. Argentum?"

"No!!" Prompto stuttered, then gave Noctis a guilty look. "M-maybe?" He was wringing his hands worriedly, suddenly talking a mile a minute like he couldn't stop. "We've been exchanging letters? I found her puppy, he'd been injured, and I took care of him for a few weeks, it's just, she sounds so nice, and she asked me to look after you, I'm _so_ sorry, I—"

Noctis stopped him before Prompto actually burst into tears. "That's—quite a story."

"I'm not making it up, I swear!"

Noctis laughed again, feeling more light-hearted than he had in ages. "It's so fantastical that it can _only_ be true, I agree."

Prompto offered him a shy smile this time, and they'd been the best of friends since.

-

The Imperial Chancellor is something else entirely. 

" _Your Highness,_ " he says, inviting Noctis for fucking tea on his airship.

"What do you want?" Noctis asks him plainly. He doesn't like the way Ardyn watches him constantly, doesn't even _want_ to consider who the Chancellor might find reflected in his countenance.

Ardyn steeples his fingers, asking almost conversationally—"What do you see in a mirror, Noctis?"

Noctis goes tense. "That's none of your business."

"It must be hard," Ardyn remarks, sounding _almost_ sympathetic. "Everyone's hopes and dreams pinned on the Chosen King, looking at you like you're the most precious thing to them. But they're not _really_ looking at you, are they? Only at what they desire most. Have _you_ ever seen yourself, Noctis?"

Noctis bites his lip, refusing to answer. How did— _how did Ardyn know._ No one else had ever thought to ask him that question.

" _I_ see you, Noctis," Ardyn says, rising from his seat and moving around the desk until he's close enough to touch.

Even if it's a lie, it's one Noctis wants to believe wholeheartedly.

" _Prove it,_ " he hisses, fists clenched at his sides. He retreats out of range of any impropriety the _Chancellor_ might attempt.

Ardyn only smiles. "I do not ask for your blind faith, Noctis." He takes up a sheet of blank paper from his desk and a pencil and begins to sketch, Noctis waiting impatiently for what will certainly turn out to be a cruel joke.

It's maybe an hour later when Ardyn hands him the drawing.

Noctis tilts his head at the young man that looks back him. It _might_ be him, and it might not. He has no way to know for certain. When _Noctis_ looks in a mirror, all he sees are shadows. Everyone else needs him to be the answer to all their dreams so badly, but no one has ever asked what _he _wants.__

____

____

" _Why,_ " Noctis asks Ardyn.

"I have need of the _Chosen King,_ " Ardyn answers. "Not shadows, nor _pretenders_ to the throne."

Ardyn holds out a hand, and Noctis stares at it for long moments before he places his fingers against Ardyn's palm.

"I will _see_ you to the end of your quest, Noctis," he promises, lifting Noctis' hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it, oddly tender.

Noctis doesn't answer, but neither does he refuse when Ardyn presses the next kiss to his mouth, something Noctis has never let himself have when everyone in the world sees only shades in his place. He doesn't know if the boy in the picture is himself or some other person from the Chancellor's assuredly checkered past—perhaps it's even an imagined amalgamation of what Ardyn thinks Noctis _might_ look like, based on his parents, but for this one moment in time, Noctis will allow himself to believe it.

**Author's Note:**

> the happy ending to this would've been promptis where prompto finally sees noctis for himself, but alas, prompto shall never have happiness _from me_.


End file.
